Reminders Lacking
by DreamScene
Summary: He doesn't remember much, but he trusts this feeling of attraction. She tries to send a warning although it gets lost in the attempt. Re-l/Vincent


A/N: First foray into Ergo Proxy. Kind of dark.

Drop me a few words and let me know whatcha think.

* * *

It's after the door closes behind him that he's hit with the realization that she's not at all gentle. Not that he didn't know it before, what with the big gun and the overall attitude, it was pretty hard to miss.

There's a thud echoing in the outside when she's finally up close and kissing him hard enough to have the back of his head hit against the door. It's not like the instances he imagined after seeing her. True, her mouth is soft, but the devastating hunger that comes along with it surprises him into stillness. He tries to breathe, to make some sense of his legs dying to give out under him. It's almost as if she wants him to give in.

And she really doesn't need to go through so much effort, he thinks as he submits easily. She's been on his mind since the moment he saw her. It's strange how he feels pliable as putty when she's around. For not knowing much at all, he trusts this feeling of attraction. Pino's commented plenty about the way he reacts to Re-L, not that he's tried to hide it.

His heart pounds louder in his ears the closer she stands while hands wander over him.

She allows herself a moment to stand back a bit and studies his face with darkened eyes as her fingers undo the buttons of his stupid jacket. Bright green stares back at her, a little afraid and sort of in awe. Then she's off and dragging him a few meters towards the bed where she shoves him into a sitting position and places herself on his lap.

His fingers close around the thin bedsheets as she alternates between kissing and occasionally sinking her teeth on his lip. Tentatively, he responds to her and she feels close to losing it. Something unsettling is running through her veins as she tries to decide what to do.

There's that thing lurking inside, under his skin where her hands are running through his hair and sliding down under his shirt. He's warm to the touch as her nails scrape just barely over his shoulders.

This isn't about provoking it to the surface, to make it arrive on will. Nor is it a whimsy for her to toy carelessly about.**  
**

Lips suddenly break off contact, leaving him reeling, spinning, dizzy as she suddenly turns and walks away. She paces a few times around the cramped quarters trying to steady herself. He leans back on his hands, catching his breath before she comes back from her aimless steps while undoing the buttons of her shirt.

He watches as her top comes off and she just about comes charging at him until she's straddling his lap once more. He is panting against her collar as the jacket is pushed off his shoulders.

This is a calculated risk on her part. It's about control, pure and simple.

That he can contain such a thing in the confines of his bone and muscle is more than she can imagine at times. That he can hurt and damage the things around him with a swipe of his arm is confounding. He slips in and out shadows, far too fast for her to follow when a fight breaks out instantaneously. It's like an automatic combat mechanism that's hardwired in his muscles or something. And that's what little she knows of his abilities.

But _this_, she thinks as she sharply lowers her hips against him, this is her way of showing she can harm and make him beg for mercy in more than one way. He groans in a way that suggests both enjoyment and torture. Her breath is coming in a little more ragged, even though she ignores it.

This is what she wants. Because when he looks at her, she can detect a trace of fear. And she needs it. Because that thing can easily kill her and she wants to make it clear that she can damn sure do the same.

He loves her (so he says), although she can't even begin to fathom why. It makes her uneasy when he says the words, even though she'd rather not hear it. Disposing of him (along with that fucking monstrosity) is made that much more complicated. Now if he would only shut up.

He's shaking under her when she reaches for the holster at her side. He doesn't see the sharp smile that emerges at the corners of her mouth. Iggy's voice is replaying in her mind, teasing about a crush on Vincent.

Then a soft slide of a kiss is pressed against the smooth column of her throat. She keeps from shivering, even though he's careful not to touch her beyond that. For all her show of strength, she's oddly fragile, though not in a doll-like manner where she needs to be shielded from harm. It's because she chases the unknown, the things that lurk in the darkness that she makes herself vulnerable for seeking out danger (things like him, although he doesn't understand why she keeps up the pursuit even though he likes how she stays).

It's an impulse on her part, like an uncontrollable twitch that she can't help or something. She's drawn to mystery for some reason, even when she feigns disinterest in his background and claims to stick around for research purposes. She writes continuously in her notebook, but leaves out her misgivings about him. It would fill up the pages of her notebook far too quickly.

Gun forgotten, her hands tangle up in his hair, drawing him towards her again. The exact number of remaining bullets suddenly eludes her.

She finds it harder to stay still.

There's that brooding stare as she levels her gaze with him. It's so clear (almost laughable) that he wants her, but restrains himself regardless. Unlike him, she's not holding back even though she's inexperienced in this sort of thing. Romance never had any part of her life before, but it's not like she considers this anything remotely close to it. Because he's Vincent and a little clumsy and weird and awkward at times.

She's never really thought about silly attachments and ideals, less so in this wasteland filled with the sameness of dreary cold, dark days and darker nights in this absurd quest for answers.

At this moment, however, there's this undeniable rush that burns her up slowly like a fever.

For some reason, she needs to take off his shirt. Which she proceeds to do and gets absolutely no resistance even though her nails claw at his back in the process. Perhaps it is the cold after all or the monotony of unchanging days that's making her do this. A chance of scenery in a way.

Another kiss presses against the pulse at the juncture of her throat, almost delicately. He can feel her agitated pulse and gets a fleeting taste of her frustration when she tugs at his hair. Then he's suddenly pushed downward before she pulls off the flimsy bit of shirt remaining on her. Even though it's almost transparent, he's kept his eyes on hers the whole time.

In between breathless kisses and shaky exhales, she's working on the rest of his clothes without looking and soon, he's shifting enough for her peel back layers of synthetic fabric. No words are exchanged as her clothes come off a bit more gracefully and she can feel his anticipation underneath her.

Her nails are skimming along his side when she lays down over him. He can smell a hint of perfume on her from the ensuing slide of skin. She usually shivers with little clothes on, but the insufferable heat he produces is enough to make her forget as she presses closer, seeking more of him to touch even though she's trying to ignore the hammering of his heartbeat against her breast.

He stares back at blue eyes and a fair complexion while a hand slides over his face. There's nothing to fear when they're like in this quiet little space where she can have him any way she wants. Like this, without the use of guns, brute force or supernatural abilities, it's easy to remind him. Her palm cradles his jaw as traces her thumb along his mouth in a slow, rough motion, like a reflected version of a shared memory bathed in fog.

Stunned, his eyes widen just as she's realizing how soft he feels on her fingertips.


End file.
